Inquisitor
by Skeasel
Summary: DA3 imaginings. Ashe was stripped of her title and imprisoned by malcontents and conspirators, but when the Divine frees her and sends her on a mission of great import, Ashe must not only navigate and survive a web of intrigue, but the coming storm as well. Set to the backdrop of the mage/templar war.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Bioware owns pretty much everything.

"_We stand upon the precipice of change."_

Chapter 1

Ashe awoke in the darkness once more, lit only by a tiny, delicate sliver of light, which cut a sharp swath through the dank of her cell. She sniffed once and wiped the grime from her eyes with the back of her hand. Better there was no light at all. Not that she could forget about her surroundings, but any reminder of the world outside was a wicked torment. No, best she remain in the dark, oblivious to the rotten straw spilling out of her mattress, ignorant of the ever-growing puddle of piss on the floor, blinded to the decrepit nature of her existence. Ashe was sure she could fall lower still, although it wouldn't be much of a drop.

She rolled over and stared at the ceiling of her cell, content to actively ignore the sliver of light as one would an unwelcome guest. How long had she been here? The days had blurred together after only so long, and then days had turned into weeks. She sighed heavily and sat up, the irons around her wrists and ankles clanging loudly in the silence.

The notches on the wall numbered forty-three, although the thrice-damned sliver of light was not the best measure. Ashe knew she had gone days without light, both a blessing and a curse, and while she had tried to keep track of the days, she was certain her number was off. By how much, though, was the question. She scratched another notch into the stone, the monotonous activity granting her little respite, and only for a moment, and then she was done.

Another day. Another notch. She closed her eyes again.

This day, however, differed. Ashe's eyes snapped open in the dark as distant voices echoed down the corridor. She heard the rats scatter as they did when the guards approached, but something was off. It wasn't meal time. The guards never came down to the dungeons during daylight. Ashe tense in anticipation, a myriad of scenarios racing through her mind. She heard scuffling in the other cells, certain their inhabitants felt as she did. And while she was curious about their activity, she also recognized that even the slightest hint of hope in her hollow existence could be devastating. Ashe closed her eyes once again and like the sliver of light, attempted to ignore the voices in the hall.

Despite her best attempts, it didn't work. The voices grew ever louder, punctuated by an occasional burst of laughter. Ashe did not know these men. She did not recognize the cadence of their footsteps, or the timbre of their voices. She did not know their purpose – did not want to – because the thought that they might be coming to release her was almost more than she could bear.

But still the voices grew louder and Ashe covered her ears and tucked her chin to her knees. She cursed the light, cursed the Maker, and cursed the voices, cursed the key in the lock and the creak of the hinges as her door opened.

"Oy, this one's gone mad, she 'as." The pot-bellied guard dressed in Chantry livery nudged his fellow and as the other stuck his torch into the cell. "Andraste's tits it stinks in here."

Ashe heard a muffled grunt as one guard socked the other in the gut. "Stow it. We got our orders. Get her up and let's get going. I hate coming down here."

The pot-bellied guard grunted as he reached under Ashe's arms and hoisted her up unceremoniously. She stood, wobbly at first and nearly fell to the floor when the guard shoved her out the door. Ashe caught herself on the opposite wall, the stone cool and clean compared to those in her cell. She followed the two guards, trudging through the dim hallways as the irons on her ankles rubbed against her already raw skin. She enjoyed the pain. It was a welcome distraction from the blossoming anxiety in her head.

The going was slow, made worse by the pot-bellied guard and his vulgar attempts at humor. The other guard appeared uninterested in his commentary, snorting with humor or possibly disdain. Ashe was unable to tell. He would look back at her from time to time, eyeing her cuffs, the twitch of his nose almost imperceptible. Ashe guessed he was familiar with her sort of punishment, although she doubted he had ever endured its like. Either way, she cared little, focusing her attention on putting one foot in front of the other. It seemed hours before they exited the dungeons and that, in and of itself, was torture.

The pot-bellied guard affixed the torch to the wall while the other opened the door. White light spilled into the dank passage and Ashe shut her eyes tight against it. She stumbled again as the guard pushed her through the door, although this time there was no wall to catch her. The pain was white hot and blinding as any light. She smelled the sharp tang of blood barely visible in her hazy vision.

"Idiot. Now look what you did."

"Oy, it's not my fault she can't walk."

Ashe struggled to stand, shrugging off the guard's assistance.

"Leave me be," she hissed through gritted teeth. "You've helped enough."

"As you say." He stepped back to give her space while his pot-bellied comrade snorted and spit off to the side.

Ashe had seen their like before and was as unimpressed by them then as she was now. Such men were usually uneducated, rarely fit for combat, and followed their orders with only the minimum amount of effort required. They were thugs in uniform and it irked Ashe to no end that she was reduced to such as these for an escort. She had fallen low indeed.

Ashe squinted against the sunlight as her eyes slowly adjusted, but the pain remained. It was still bright outside, but it was as it should be during midday. Ashe sighed, recognizing that winter had passed and spring was budding. Had it been so long?

A burst of green decorated a young tree to her right, while creeping vines covered the walls to her left. She recognized this place having been brought here only months before. It had been a dull thing then, the carpet of dead leaves trampled under the guards' feet. The sky had been overcast and grey. A storm was on the air. It was a stark contrast to the scene that greeted her today.

"Knight Captain?"

Ashe turned her attention back to the guards. It seemed that at least one of them knew who she was and she pushed aside her rising ire.

"We need to be on our way."

Ashe nodded at the guard and forced her body to remember pride. She felt the trail of blood creep down the side of her face, the pain of her fall still fresh in her mind.

"Let's be off then."

The guards led Ashe across the courtyard, into the keep, and through a series of twisting passages. Her head throbbed with the activity, but she was still grateful to be out of her cell despite whatever she may face. Ashe's mind began to race once more, and she fought to filter out the numerous nonsensical scenarios that plagued her imagination. She would face what was to come, whatever that may be. When they reached their destination, however, it was the last thing Ashe had expected.

Atop the mountain of stairs she had just climbed was a solid oak door, unadorned save for simple iron embellishments. She frowned slightly as her racing mind came to a halt. The guards opened the door for her and she shuffled in. The pot-bellied guard grunted as he knelt down to unlock the irons about her ankles while the other removed the second pair. Ashe rubbed her naked wrists as the guards left, wincing slightly as the doors thundered shut behind her. She was alone in an unassuming room for an unknown reason. She sighed heavily and wondered.

"I would thank you for coming, but by I know you weren't given a choice."

Ashe turned toward the voice. A petite woman leaned out from an oversized chair and tossed another log onto the fire. It crackled merrily in response, the twisting flames throwing odd shadows across her face. She seemed smaller than Ashe remembered, her face drawn, eyes shadowed.

"It has been a while, Excellency."

"I see your memory is still intact."

Ashe cocked an eyebrow at her tone. "How could I forget that it was the Divine who failed to lift a finger when I was sentenced – sentenced for the very mission she assigned me?"

"No," she met Ashe's eyes without hesitation or a hint of remorse. "No I suppose you wouldn't forget that."

Ashe shifted, her bare feet aching from the walk. "What do you want? I'm in no mood for games."

Justinia V sat back in her chair, her lips creased into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "I have a mission for you."

Ashe snorted. She had learned many things during her stay in the dungeons, most of which were used to keep madness at bay, but she had not been gone so long as to grow desperate in the face of such hypocrisy. Surely the Divine had her reasons for such a bold request, but Ashe was hardly in the mood to tolerate her orders. Better that she gorge herself on fresh air before trudging back to the dungeons and avoid the infinite pitfalls of politics, for there were few other reasons for a figure of such import to require her aid. However, as was often the case, practicality won out.

"I was prevented from completing my last mission. What makes you so sure that won't happen again?"

The Divine remained still, the flickering shadows of the fire doing little to hide the interest on her face. "There will be some who object to your release, but at present, are of little consequence."

"You mean you're going to ignore them and do what you want anyway," Ashe spat.

"To put it bluntly, yes."

Ashe snorted again. It was as she thought. "What's the mission?"

The other woman leaned forward ever so slightly, her robes rustling as she clasped her hands together. "Ferelden."

The former knight captain cocked an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I have reports that both the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall have gone missing – vanished - and not one of my agents have been able to discover their whereabouts."

"I'm no tracker." Ashe shifted, the warmth of the fire waking the ache in her bones.

"No." The Divine tilted her head as if studying her. "No that's not what I need at all. I need you on the periphery."

That caught Ashe's attention. "To do what, exactly?"

"Both Hawke and the Warden were well-known for performing great feats of heroism as well as leaving a path of destruction in their wake. They left their stamp on the land and I need your keen eye to examine those effects – the lasting impressions that they left."

Ashe frowned. This was not a typical order of the Divine, but something else. Something more.

"The queen has agents in Ferelden and the Free Marches. Surely they would be more suited to such a thing than I."

Justinia V shook her head, her features creasing slightly as if in thought. "No. Court politics would preclude any sort of objective assessment. As I'm sure you're aware, the Game has become even more treacherous since the Grand Duke's coup attempt and even Her Highness must play it in order to keep her throne." The small woman shook her head again. "No, this is a matter for the Church, for the safety of the lands and the peasants who work it. I need an unbiased measure of the current climate, for I fear the coming storm may be worse than we ever imagined."

Ashe shifted her weight to the other foot and took stock of the woman before her. She seemed swallowed by her robes, as if she subsisted on uncertainly alone. The shadows under her eyes bespoke of sleepless nights, clouded by worry. Ink stained her fingers, her nails short and broken from countless correspondence. She was dressed in the finery of the land's most powerful leader and yet the weight of that finery held her more a prisoner than any dungeon.

"I accept."

The Divine sighed heavily, as if she had been expecting a different answer. "Very well. It is doubtful the roads will remain safe for even messengers of the Chantry, so the pigeons have been made available to you."

Ashe nodded in agreement. She'd not sent reports by air before, but she was familiar with the concept. The Chantry's pigeons were trained and bred to carry messages, but they were few, their numbers dwindling in recent years.

"And one other thing – " Justinia V held up her hand to forestall the protest surely on Ashe's lips. "After you finish your work in Ferelden, you will report to Grand Inquisitor Vitomir. His keep is north of Tantervale – you will see its location marked on your map."

A frown crossed Ashe's face yet again. "I'm not to report to you directly?"

The smaller woman shook her head and handed Ashe her orders, a silver medallion hidden between the folds of a map. "No. Inquisitors do not answer to the Chantry."

Her frown deepened as the realization struck Ashe. She turned the medallion over in her dirty palms, a single sword sheathed in an eye of flame, its edges flickering with the light of the fire. It was only a small piece of jewelry cast with common metal, but the implications of wearing such an ornament left Ashe mildly uncomfortable. Had she known what awaited her, fleeing to the dungeons might have been an alternative worth greater consideration.

The Divine remained silent, studying Ashe's reaction. "Do you have questions regarding your orders?"

"Where can I go to wash up?"

Justinia V smiled in acknowledgement. "Your gear is in the barracks and the washrooms made available to you."

Ashe nodded, slipping the medallion around her neck and tucking it into her filthy tunic. "Is that all you have for me?"

"Yes."

"Then, Excellency, I take my leave."

The Divine stood as Ashe turned on her heel. "Ratimir awaits you by the barracks entrance when you're ready to depart."

Ashe halted at her words. "We leave today."

"As you say, Inquisitor."

o O o

Ashe pushed the heavy oak door open, the daylight spilling into her eyes and blinding her momentarily. A dark shadow stood near the entrance, and as her eyes adjusted, the corner of her lips quirked upward in a rare smile. Ratimir, still as the stone carvings dotting the courtyard, towered over her. The grip of a massive two-handed sword peaked out over his right shoulder, forging an even more imposing figure. To Ashe, though, his shadow was a familiar comfort and much missed in her captivity. She strode over to him with purpose, perched her hands on the hilts of the daggers on her hips, and met his gaze appraisingly.

He grunted in greeting, the stubble on his chin already starting to shadow his rugged features. Ashe studied him a moment longer, noting with mild curiosity a jagged new scar, then turned toward the eastern gates. She slung her saddlebags over her shoulder and headed on her way, Ratimir falling into step beside her.

From a distant window the Divine observed their silent reunion, recognizing even from such range the ties that bound them. They exited the city together, saddling their mounts and riding out as if not a single day had passed between them. Such companionship was both a boon and a curse, and the Divine truly hoped for Ashe it was the former. However, only time would tell if the her faith held true.

She sighed as the breeze ruffled her robes and her vision of the two riders dwindled to nothing. A light shuffling in the shadows caught her attention and Justinia V remembered she was not alone.

"Excellency? Does something trouble you?"

The Divine kept her eyes glued to the horizon. "I fear what is to come, Sister. I fear that in my attempt to quell the approaching maelstrom, I have only provided more wood for the fire. I worry for what is to come."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age and I might as well admit that the OCs are mine.

A/N: A big thanks to Night and Sesh who not only keep me addicted to ToR, but encourage and inspire my muse as well. My world would be much more boring without them.

_"Such manners! And always in the last place you look... like stockings!"_

Chapter 2

A crisp breeze greeted her as the din of the city faded into the background, the echoes of the Grand Cathedral's bells melting on the empty air. Ashe sighed, welcoming the calm plains ahead, the rolling hills a patchwork quilt of greens and browns as winter and spring collided. The midday sun shone brightly overhead, catching a burst of color and pulling Ashe's attention to a nearby patch of Goldfields. She closed her eyes and inhaled their light scent, lulled into an almost peaceful complacency by the rhythm of her horse. She could feel Ratimir's dark eyes upon her, the question on his lips, but she allowed only an extra moment of peace before turning her attention to matters at hand.

As she suspected, their tail was still behind them, skittering along in the high grasses, invisible save for the occasional slip of the wind. She met her partner's gaze, nodded once, but made no move to hurry their passage. Ashe had no intention of alerting their shadow, nor did she wish to accommodate him. If he was so curious about their company, let him sate his desire at her leisure. Let him prove of what mettle he was made.

The Inquisitor sifted through the memory once more, practicality settling in as she endeavored to detach the frustration of that day.

_The morning was overcast, grey clouds hanging low in the sky and a cold mist clinging to her skin. She remembered the pungent stench of sewage, the gutters overflowing from the waste of the city yet again. Ashe had tried to avoid the puddles at first, but as the rain began to fall, it became an exercise in futility. She pulled her cloak tighter about her waist only to find a slippery palm attached to her purse._

_He was quick, she gave him that, but Ashe was familiar with the game and tripped him up as he attempted escape. She caught his wrist, small and bony in her hand, and next she caught his surprised glance. Elvish eyes searched for freedom as he struggled, but Ashe's grip was made of iron, leather gloves holding him despite the downpour._

_She extended her other hand, palm open and he ceased his struggle. Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them. The thief dropped her purse into her waiting hand and she released her grip on him. He disappeared into the shadowed alleys, escaping the maw of the dungeons with which Ashe would become so familiar._

Her shadow was the same thief. Ashe was certain of it. Even at this distance she could recognize those eyes. Ratimir wouldn't recognize him – couldn't recognize him. She'd not yet rendezvoused with him on that particular mission, but she had shared her tale upon their reunion. He said little, as was his manner, but she had recognized the understanding in his eyes then, as she recognized it now. Ratimir understood. He needn't voice it for her benefit.

They continued apace, little conversation between them as was their custom. No need for noise on the road, especially when foot traffic and trade was minimal. Noise drew attention. Noise drew trouble. Ashe was not a fan of either and Ratimir even less so. She had pieced together the gossip in the dungeons and at their reunion this morn she realized that Ratimir had had more than his share of trouble during the days of her imprisonment. It was writ upon his face.

He was not a handsome man by noble standards, and their relationship held no romantic undertone, but Ashe had found that she enjoyed looking upon his face. He'd lost his hair years before and sported a bald pate under his mail coif for so long as she'd known him. The dark shadow of his stubble was flecked with grey and he'd had a tooth knocked out during one of the sparring sessions. His dark eyes, though, always scanned the horizon, always watched. And Ashe could take comfort in the knowledge that he was always aware – always alert. And now one of those dark eyes was bisected by a long, ragged scar, ranging down the right side of his face.

She didn't question why he had donned his great helm even before they exited the city. Ashe knew him well enough that she need not question his right to privacy, not so much for himself, but for their mission. While the majority of the peasantry was no stranger to the Templar order, most common folk would remember such a scar. While Ashe had no delusions about her ability to remain anonymous, especially in Orlais's convoluted political circles, she would endeavor to remain so for as long as possible. However, best they leave the country posthaste, lest politics ensnare her again.

Politics were trouble.

-O-

Ashe pulled up rein as the sun's rays turned to a deep golden hue, blanketing the lower valleys in shadow. She had led them off the Imperial Highway not three hours earlier, their surreptitious third still trailing at the rear, his presence all but masked by the high grasses. With the sun setting, and her muscles stiff from the ride, Ashe felt it best that they stop for the night. The hills would hide their campsite and obscure any view of a small fire, but they would still need to keep watch. Dangers still roamed the lands even this close to Val Royeaux.

Ratimir followed her lead and dismounted, the two falling into a familiar routine with practiced ease. Ashe scouted the area on foot while Ratimir watered the horses and set the lines. The wind died down to nothing as dusk descended, the crackling twigs of their tiny fire the only noise upon Ashe's return. She had not spotted their tail on her trek, but she didn't expect to find him if he was a thief of any skill. Still, as she set out her bedroll by the fire and finally sat down to help Ratimir with supper, she knew he wasn't far.

Ratimir shooed Ashe away from the blackened pot, the boiling water spilling over the sides, chunks of carrot falling onto the ground. Ashe obeyed even as he grumbled like an old maid, shifting her attention to the growing darkness. Ratimir stirred the pot and pulled it from the fire, setting aside the battered spoon and following Ashe's gaze.

She knew he saw nothing, as did she, but Ratimir stiffened nonetheless. He twisted in his heavy gambeson, the thick fabric pulling taut over his large frame. She watched him as he watched the darkness, the tension in his body unchanged.

"Oy you!" he growled, the deep timbre of his voice rumbling across the grasses like a bucket of stones.

Only silence answered his order, but Ratimir persisted, repeating his command. Again silence responded, but Ashe detected a slight movement in the shadows. Ratimir recognized it as well, but said nothing more.

The duo waited in the light of the small fire, Ashe gnawing on a strip of jerky while Ratimir remained unmoving. The makeshift stew soon cooled, left untended and all but forgotten. Ashe grew annoyed and then tired, her back aching from the ride and the rigid image of Ratimir's statue-like vigil. It was too much for her first night out of the dungeons.

She sighed with irritation and turned her attention to the shadows once more. "Are you going to join our fire, or just lurk in the shadows all night?"

The crackling of their tiny fire answered her query and Ashe almost missed the slight rustling in the night. She popped the last bite of jerky in her mouth and chewed vigorously, her gaze on the approaching shadow. Ratimir's keen eyes remained ever watchful as he reached for the dagger at his belt. Ashe felt no such compunction as she knew this particular shadow could have quite easily remained anonymous, could have attacked them from the darkness at any point, but had not. Ashe and Ratimir remained unmolested and relatively safe, even as the shadow braved the night away from the fire.

Ashe sighed again and studied the approaching figure. He was far too lean, his sharp eyes weary, and his gait was unsurprisingly nimble. He paused at the edge of their camp as if to size up the duo, then dropped unceremoniously onto the ground with a brace of hares. Ashe watched him as he turned his dark eyes on her. She had been correct in her earlier assessment. This was indeed the thief from her memory – the same ragged, dirty elf that failed to steal her purse on her previous stay in Val Royeaux. The Maker must have a sense of irony to saddle him with her now.

The elf blinked once at Ashe and then turned his gaze on Ratimir, his eyes widening in surprise at the battered spoon in his large hands. Ratimir snorted back at him in return, grunting as he stirred the cold stew. Ashe said nothing, but watched the exchange with mild amusement. She was too tired to care about the laws of hospitality and something told her that the elf didn't give a Ferelden turnip about laws whatsoever. He was still on his own so far as she cared, but at least now he was in the open.

Ratimir, however, appeared dissatisfied with their new shadow. He occasionally grumbled into the stew as he tasted it, the random expletive barely discernible to Ashe's trained ears. The elf ignored him for the most part, and even with Ratimir's eyes upon him, whipped out a wickedly sharp knife. The Templar forgot his stew immediately as he reached again for the dagger at his belt, only to freeze as the elf began to skin one of the rabbits he had caught. Ashe saw him frown slightly before tended to his stew once more.

"Runty Elf," he grumbled, plucking a carrot from the spoon. Ashe shot him a sharp look and he said no more that evening. Even the low rumble of his grumbling ceased and Ashe took advantage of the opportunity. With once last glance at the elf, she buried herself in the bedroll and drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has read and reviewed!

Disclaimer: Bioware owns pretty much everything.

"_Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature."_

Chapter 3

"Seems that divine bitch ordered her chains struck and sent her on a merry jaunt." Lord Capucine sniffed in irritation. "Your thinly veiled play was all for not, Alphonse."

Duke Alphonse de Chaunse ignored his companion's blunt remark, choosing instead to remain silent, his eyes on the sodden hunting grounds beyond. The day had been a waste, the hunt spoiled by the encroaching storm and Marquis d'Laurie's puerile protests. The Duke cared little for the Marquis, even less for the dire effect of rain on his over-styled bouffant, but his fortune was a necessary asset and one that Duke Alphonse required. He would suffer the inbred fistula of a marquis so long as he served his purpose.

"Indeed." The duke frowned as he sipped his Antivan brandy, the crystal snifter deceptively delicate in his fingers.

"'_Indeed_?' That's all you have to say?" Marquis d' Laurie's voice cracked slightly as he stood, the wooden heels of his gaudy shoes echoing on the hardwood floors. "Were I you, my dear Duke, I would have removed her head at the first opportunity."

"Here, here." Ever the coward, Comte de Peuse raised his glass in a mockery of a toast. Duke de Chaunse watched him from the corner of his vision, his frown deepening with disgust at the obvious quiver of de Peuse's jowls.

"To what end, gentlemen?" The slender man in the corner leaned forward and tended to the fire with an ornate poker. The flames glowed brazen and bright against the shadows in which Lord Gilles Francisque rested. "Such a savage act would not only show our hand in a most uncivilized manner, but ruin any future games we intend to play. Tsk, tsk." He chided them as one might a young child. "And I thought so highly of your intellect. I do hate to be mistaken."

Capucine sniffed again and tossed the remainder of his brandy back. "A show of force is never a mistake, Gilles, not when the gain is worth the risk."

Gilles narrowed dark eyes and considered the burly lord. He was as thick as he was tall, more akin to the broad side of a country barn than an Orlesian nobleman, but he was shrewd and corrupt and unimaginative. Such characteristics Lord Francisque found desirable for the sheer ease of manipulation, and so he steepled his fingers as if in deep thought. Gilles would deny his claim even as Capucine insisted it was the correct course of action. They would quibble while each chose his side, de Peuse and d'Laurie egging each on for a bit of moronic entertainment, while the duke appeared to ignore them. No matter what the outcome, Capucine would not relent, thus creating a divide in their confederacy, and ultimately a loose end in need of cutting. Lord Francisque sniffed once and reclined back into the deep cushions of his armchair.

"The time has passed, but the opportunity is not. Do you still wish to make a show of force, Capucine, my reports state she rides east to Val Chevin. I assume you would not waste our time with mention of such an action unless you have plans already in motion?"

Unseen by all, Duke Alphonse allowed himself the briefest of smiles.

Capucine snorted and sidled up to the bar to refill his snifter. He downed it in one large, loud gulp and refilled it again. Comte de Peuse, recognizing the winds had changed, took the opportunity to rethink his original position.

"Perhaps a beheading would have been too obvious." The comte paused as if considering. "It would be more practical that she remain alive for now, see what she knows. We can always dispose of her later."

Gilles nodded slightly in the shadows. He may be a shifty coward, but de Peuse was also quite practical for a noble.

"Do we know what she learned in Ferelden?" d'Laurie inquired.

Capucine snorted again from the lip of his snifter. "Not a whit."

The marquis scanned the room with an inquiring glance, even as he fretted absently with the ruffled cuffs of his sleeves. "She wasn't interrogated?"

Lord Francisque raised an eyebrow slightly, his condescending countenance hidden in the shadows, but thick in his voice. "That would have been a most impotent method, Edme. Templars do not share their secrets with the likes of us, not even with torture."

"I've heard stories," de Peuse stuttered. "They depend on lyrium – it becomes so they can't function without it."

"Yes!" d'Laurie joined the comte in his excitement as if it were an epiphany. "Torture wouldn't have been necessary. We could have eliminated her supply of lyrium."

"And what makes you think the incoherent ramblings of a lyrium-deprived Templar would mean anything to us?" Lord Capucine need not hide the annoyance in his voice. The implications of his statement were more than enough to silence the other two men.

"Indeed." Gilles nodded in agreement, purposefully quoting the duke's earlier comment. "And alas, that opportunity has already passed us by. Ashe is free. Our energies should be focused on the present situation rather than what could have been."

"Agreed," the duke stated blandly. The fire crackled in the brief silence that followed.

"The remains of de Chalons' forces have been scattered and that whore remains upon her throne."

"That 'whore' is still our queen, Lord Capucine. Would you speak so of the noble born?" Alphonse's eyes remained on the horizon, but his warning did not go unheeded.

"Pardon, Your Grace."

Another tense silence filled the air before Lord Gilles interrupted it. "Reports indicate that the rebel captains fled after their patron lost his head."

"Oh it's not lost," de Peuse noted absently. "It's still stuck on the stake outside the city gates right next to his general's."

"How wretched." d'Laurie sniffed, his powder-caked face crinkling almost delicately.

"As I was saying," Lord Francisque cleared his throat. "My sources report that a contingent of loyal soldiers have holed up in the northern marshes and the plains bordering the Western Approach."

"Bah, to what end," de Peuse barked. "Loyal men would have held their ground and remained with their lord."

"And they would have been slaughtered, my dear comte," d'Laurie sniffed again. "The stench permeating Val Royeaux after the first battles was unpleasant enough. I can't imagine how even more funeral pyres would have done anything but add soot to the blasted walls. I was forced to traverse the streets without my carriage and had to search for a kerchief to cover my face. It was most inconvenient and very pedestrian. Really."

Capucine frowned. "You seem very certain of that outcome, Marquis."

D'Laurie fidgeted with his cuffs again, straightening the lace with quick, purposeful movements. "Their liege had already lost his head. Their general was quick to follow. I would have thought that a noble of our duke's stock would share not only his same ambition, but his strategic expertise as well. Pity."

"We did not come here to discuss my cousin, gentlemen." Duke Alphonse sipped once more on his brandy, but otherwise remained still.

"The Duke is correct," Gilles interjected. "We have a troubling tendency to stray away from discussion of more pressing matters."

"You have news, Francisque?"

Gilles nodded, barely visible in the shadows of his armchair. "My agents in Ferelden report a great deal of unrest among their excuse for nobility. It seems their new king seems more intent on frivolity and games than actual governance."

"He seemed quite irreverent from my reports," Comte de Peuse interrupted.

Francisque shot de Peuse a blank look, keeping his emotions in check, and continued on. "The common folk adore him, however, irreverent or not. They see him as a legend, one of the heroes of the fifth blight. Despite the irregularities of his crowning, or conflicting reports of his relationship with the Hero of Ferelden, he still has enemies in a country where we still retain powerful allies."

"Meghren deserved his head on a pike for losing that backwater piece of filth," d'Laurie announced, still straightening his lace cuffs. "Only a fool could be outsmarted by a band of peasants and their dogs."

"Turnips," de Peuse snorted.

"And what of the Free Marches?" Capucine asked, ignoring the quips of his fellow conspirators.

"While the recent debacle in Kirkwall did cause quite the stir, my agents report the Marchers remain on their own, each independent and relatively isolated. The status quo remains as such, although Nevarra has seen an increase in activity. They seem to be drafting peasants into their military, bolstering their ranks."

"To what end?" Capucine asked.

Lord Francisque shook his head and smoothed back a loose strand of black hair. "Nothing confirmed at present, but I suspect the chaos in the Free Marches may spill over into their borders, and when that happens, they want to be prepared."

"And what news from the Chantry?" Duke de Chaunse finally turned from the window and settled his weighty gaze upon Gilles.

The darker man leaned forward in his lavish armchair, smiling ever so slightly as a soft knock on the door sounded. "Why that would be our news right now, Your Grace."

"My Lords." An unassuming man strode through the ornate door of the lounge, brushing past the wispy butler as if he was nothing. He wore no armor, no elaborate vestiges of his office save a silver chain, and yet the very room seemed filled with his presence. He settled in the armchair across from Lord Francisque, nodding to him in greeting, and proceeded to drink a cold cup of tea as if all eyes weren't upon him.

Gilles gestured to the newcomer. "I have asked Lord Seeker Theron to join us today. He shares views similar to our own."

Lord Capucine snorted as he set down his snifter. "And what exactly can a Chantry turncoat offer us?"

The Lord Seeker set his cup down lightly, the _tinkling_ of the saucer overly loud against the sudden silence. He considered the burly lord with an astute eye, the weight of his gaze so heavy that Lord Capucine turned away and refilled his snifter once again.

"I am a man of Orlais. I know that she must be united and powerful in order to become the empire worthy of her name."

o O o

The quill scratched against the dry parchment and grated on her nerves, but she continued nevertheless. Such minor inconveniences were easily overlooked, especially on a day such as this. The Divine bit her lip in thought as she completed her task, an old habit that had stayed with her throughout the years. The note was brief and vague enough to be unrecognizable by anyone other than its intended recipient. All she need do is send it.

Justinia glanced out the large window across the room. The sun was setting, peeking out beneath the low-hanging clouds. Rain still sang on the air, made cold and harsh by the remaining winter winds. She shivered in her many robes, the breeze still reaching to her bones. Perhaps her worries were for naught and the situation would remain under control, but she was taking no chances. She turned her attention to the servant at her side, a dusky pigeon in her hands.

The Divine attached her orders to the tiny casing on the pigeon's leg and nodded upon completion of her task. She watched wordlessly as the servant moved to the window and launched the bird into the air.

"And so it goes," the Divine whispered into the distance.


	4. Chapter 4

"_The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss."_

Chapter 4

She could smell the sea even from such a distance. The southern winds drifted upon the sleeping plains before them, carrying with it the scent of water and the sounds of the city. Traffic on the roads was still less than what she was used to, but given the current climate in Orlais, unsurprising. Still, Ashe was wary as their company was even more obvious with fewer travelers in which to blend. She doubted that two armored riders and a shifty elf would attract only a few inquiring glances.

Ashe twisted on her mount and scanned the horizon behind her. As she suspected, Dierk was still on their tail, although more visible than the day before, and the day before that. He had joined them at their campfire each night, sharing what game he caught, but otherwise kept to himself. She thought she caught him about to speak on a few occasions, but nothing came of it. Instead, the trio remained quiet in the evenings, each pondering their own private thoughts. It was a routine that Ashe was comfortable with, and given her recent incarceration, allowed her to enjoy the sounds of the evening without interference. It was the first time in over a month that she had slept peacefully, although she doubted it would remain so.

"It would be wise to tuck that thing under your leathers." Ratimir's low voice cut through her thoughts. His eyes remained forward, but Ashe shot him a questioning look even so. He gestured absently. "That medallion will bring us more attention than I'm sure you're ready to attract."

She frowned, her eyes catching the silvery sheen of the Inquisitor's sword hung about her neck. She had believed herself careful, hiding it away underneath her clothes each morning she rose, and confirming it remained hidden each night before she retired. Truly such a small thing need not be so troublesome, although it was that very trait the office seemed to epitomize.

Ashe sighed reluctantly and did as Ratimir suggested, deciding that there was no point in keeping the truth from him any longer. He had not asked her of their mission, did not request any order, but did as he always had. He would await instruction by her leave and only then inquire into the mission objectives. He was more patient then Ashe and deliberate in his inquiries, often addressing issues she herself had overlooked. He was invaluable to her as a sounding board as well as a respected comrade.

"I suppose you can guess what responsibilities I was given." A harsh note of sarcasm slipped into her tone despite the attempt she made to hide it.

"The Divine is rebuilding the Inquisition?"

Ashe nodded, noting Ratimir's slight frown. "You don't approve?"

He snorted, his nose twitching slightly as he did so. "We were always thought of as mage hunters before the order collapsed. This is no different."

Ashe cocked an eyebrow and awaited further elaboration. When none came, she turned her eyes back to the road. "There is a war on. That is the difference."

He grunted again. "As you say, Captain."

Ashe glanced to their rear again, recognizing Dierk's wiry frame in the distance. He was deep in the high grasses, the tip of his bow barely distinguishable at this distance. She suspected he hunted game, but as long as he remained civil, he was no concern of hers at the moment.

"When we arrive in town, I need you to head to the docks and book passage for Jader with the first available ship."

Ratimir nodded his assent, his eyes still upon the road ahead. "We're headed south?"

"South-east."

"To Ferelden then?" Ashe need not see his eyes to recognize his mild surprise.

"The Divine has tasked us with an examination of the area, specifically the effects of the Warden's actions."

Ratimir briefly pulled his eyes from the horizon and studied her. "To what end?"

"She requires an 'unbiased measure of the current climate.'" Ashe shook her head, briefly contemplating whether or not to share her true opinion on the matter, but as Ratimir turned his eyes forward once more, she decided to hold her tongue. No doubt he understood the matter better than she. What little she knew of his history before their first posting together, Ashe gathered he had seen his fair share of schemes.

Given what little information the Divine provided, Ashe couldn't help but wonder as to the end goal. She had intelligence dating back to the start of the fifth blight, prior to even the Warden's joining. Somehow, the Divine thought that Empress Celine's secret correspondence with the late King Cailan warranted her attention. Although she couldn't imagine what an abandoned alliance would mean to the Ferelden common folk now. The blight was over, the country rebuilt, and the Orlesian occupation only a memory. Granted, the Bannorn may be concerned with the political climate in Orlais, but they were not her primary objective. Ashe had had enough of the Orlesian Game. No reason to go rushing headlong into foreign political waters.

However, matters within the Circle – the former Circle – were a different issue altogether. Ashe again reviewed the records she had all but committed to memory. Justinia V had included a listing of the circle mages from the Ferelden tower, including those present during the Warden's Harrowing. It was not an unusual piece of intelligence as the Chantry kept impeccable records of all the mages in their care, but what Ashe found odd were the roughly scribbled notes in the margins. She had read enough of the Divine's orders to recognize her handwriting, but why did she feel it was important enough to note persons of interest when the records already indicate the manner in which the Warden was recruited.

Ashe frowned again in thought. Perhaps it was a point of interest for the Divine, a direction in which she wanted Ashe to go. Or perhaps it was nothing more than a noted curiosity.

Justinia's Nevarran agent had turned up little concrete information in her Kirkwall investigations. Although the tale presented to her was interesting, her main source was not an objective measure and the growing unrest in the wake of Hawke's activities had given birth to more than a few outlandish variations. However, Ashe reviewed the Seeker's notes on the matter, her interrogation techniques of other witnesses, and a pattern had indeed emerged. The task before her now was to determine just when the cord of tension in Kirkwall and the Free Marches would be pulled overly taut, nigh unto snapping. It was a disconcerting thought and Ashe frowned at the approaching horizon.

Her mission was not a difficult one, save for avoiding the usual political pitfalls and general unrest that seemed to be brewing across the land. She was curious to see how Ferelden fared as her previous visit was too brief to measure the country's relative stability. The reports on the state of Fereldan affairs were few and far between given the tension between the Chantry and its king. One would think a former Templar would welcome Chantry involvement, although many disavowed that notion after his attempt to free the Fereldan Circle – a boon requested by the Hero of Ferelden it was whispered.

Pondering the Divine's collected intelligence, Ashe found that she was very much looking forward to the mission and another visit to Orlais' neighbor. Her frown dissipated at the thought of traversing the country once more. Contrary to popular belief, Ferelden did not smell of wet dog. Well, not always.

o O o

He pulled the shaft of the arrow cleanly from the hare, the hardwood slick with bright blood and hot against his fingers. Dierk wiped it clean on the hare, checking the head for nicks before returning it to his quiver. Better not to waste an arrow when it can be reused.

Dierk unceremoniously tossed the hare into his pack and stood slowly, surveying his surroundings and spotting the two Templars still traveling side by side. They made an odd pair to be sure, but neither bothered him regarding his presence, nor did they seem to care overmuch – at least not outwardly. He had seen some of the looks the large man shot him at camp and had caught the woman searching for him in the grasses during the day. Still, they tolerated his presence and the woman seemed more satisfied with his hunting skills than her companion's cooking.

They spoke little between them, Dierk noted, and less of whatever business they were about, but he did not survive all these years on luck alone. The elf recognized what was not said: the absence of prayers typical of the Templars he had known, the anti-magic rhetoric they all seemed so fond of, and most importantly, absence of commands. Of the Templars he had known, and the unlucky few he had been unfortunate to cross, all had ordered him about like a simpleton, a base servant, because they were the martial arm of the Chantry and had the power to do so.

The last Templar to order him about found himself a purse lighter. When he went a-hunting in the alienage for the supposed thief, he found himself pelted with mud by the local youths. He left howling in rage and vowing revenge, cursing elves and Andraste's knickers along with a string of additional curses. Dierk snorted at the memory.

He turned his attention once more to the riders on the road and watched as they veered off to the right. The sun was low in the sky, which meant only that the woman had decided to set camp for the evening. She was the first Templar not to treat him like a servant. She knew what he was and what he had attempted, but she had released him still. He had watched her as she left the city that day, confused and suspicious as to her motivations, but yet he was free and she seemed not to care a whit about the incident. Granted, she had surprised him with her quickness, although he blamed the rain for that little slip-up, and yet he had remained free. Dierk snorted again. As free as an elf in an alienage could be.

He had watched those gates every day for her return, intent on trying his luck again, mad enough to prove it wasn't an accident she caught him. He had learned something of pride in his trade, proof positive of his skill was the simple fact he'd not yet landed in the dungeons as many of his brethren had. Still, the mystery of that day compelled him to action, but when she returned to the city it had been in chains.

Even in the alienage gossip surfaced of a Templar gone rogue, a Templar who treated with abominations, or Dierk's personal favorite, a Templar seduced by a blood mage and sent to assassinate the Divine. All untruths to be sure, but Dierk did not deny his love of entertainment, and gossip and lies always held a hint of truth.

He followed the riders south of the road and into the hills, creeping through the high grasses as the sun fell lower in the sky. He tossed his pack to the large man, whose name he'd learned was Ratimir, and plopped down by the fire. The woman – Ashe – nodded in acknowledgement of his contribution, but said nothing. Ratimir set to work cleaning his catch while Ashe left to care for their mounts.

He was not uncomfortable with their silence, but somewhat about it set him on edge. Neither one appeared overly interested in him or their surroundings. Ratimir's bulk crouched by a well-worn black pot, heating whatever creation he had invented this eve, while Ashe returned to the fire, settling in beside him. She met Dierk's gaze and studied him, even as he studied her. Of the two, Dierk had yet to determine which to be subordinate as the balance of their partnership seemed to teeter one end to the other.

An odd pair indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age. I just play with their toys.

A/N: A big thanks to everyone out there reading along!

"_As for you, child, step carefully."_

Chapter 5

Their journey was uneventful as Ashe had hoped. Traffic had picked up as they neared Val Chevin, colorful wagons visible in the distance, but still far fewer than would normally venture to town this time of year. It was a dire thing, this war, prompting even the most prosperous of businessmen to clench the coin in their purses. Surely they knew that no good could come of it. When the bandits found their hunting grounds bare and the poor peasantry found their bellies empty, the cities of Orlais would fill with their ilk. Ashe frowned at the thought and hoped the city guard was well trained. It always seemed that during a crisis, it was the city guard that swelled and prospered. Funny thing, that.

Ratimir shifted in his saddle, his enormous sword angled oddly across his back and down his left leg. He had long ago grown accustomed to the weight of it and traveling on horseback was not new to him. Ashe considered the sight momentarily before returning her attention to the road ahead. They were drawing closer to the seaside town and should arrive by mid-afternoon. It had not been an overly taxing journey, and while Ashe's muscles cried out with pain every evening from the saddle, it still beat the dungeons.

The riders merged with the light traffic and Ashe took note of the numerous armed escorts accompanying the traders - mercenaries by the look of them. She recognized the colors of a few: the Hunters Boon in dull grays and dark blues, a company of men from the northern plains. Another trader had hired the Buggered Get, the men of the company brandishing enormous axes and notorious for recruiting only bastards, although Ashe had her doubts as to the truth of those rumors. Gambit's Dealers in red and green, the Men of Ashencraft in black and orange, and even the Crimson Oars were to be found on the road, but Ashe did not dwell on their presence alone, but rather the harried look about them. The traders had invested their coin wisely as it seemed they had been attacked en route. Ashe was not surprised, but the confirmation of her suspicions did not comfort her in the least.

They entered the city in a muddle of arms and armor and horses, Val Chevin's gates not nearly as large as Val Royeaux's or as ornate. Even so, the guard gave them a cursory once-over and allowed them into the city. Ashe glanced behind her and saw the shadow of her quick elf dart into the fray, slinking past the watchmen with practiced ease. To be sure, he was an interesting one, but Ashe stifled her curiosity for the moment, focusing on more practical matters.

"The harbor is to the south," Ratimir's voice was muffled beneath the enormous helm. He had donned it as the road become more populated, aware of his scar's penchant for attracting attention.

"I can smell its stink from here," Ashe muttered. "I'll arrange for board at the Horse and Carriage. Meet me when you're done."

"As you say, Captain."

Ashe ignored the ire that appellation roused. She had been stripped of that title during her imprisonment and Ratimir was not ignorant of that fact. She doubted he even cared. It was not necessarily a title to him, but more a sign of respect. She was his Captain, even if she was no longer a Knight Captain. Too bad his show of respect didn't come with the same stipend.

Ashe continued apace, following the line of traders down the main road and into the town proper, the market square buzzing with activity. At first glance, Ashe noticed nothing amiss. The city guard was posted at each entrance and traders hawked their wares with cries of opportunity. Children ran amok between the colorful stalls whilst servants and patrons went about their shopping. However, the further she went into the market, the more a feeling of unease crept into her bones. She craned her neck to see over the tall market stalls. Even on her horse it was difficult and in her attempt she scarce noticed the slight brush against her legs. Dierk looked up at her and gestured before disappearing once more into the crowd.

Ashe maneuvered her mount around a string of stalls and followed in the direction Dierk had indicated. She should have expected it, having seen it's like before, but it surprised her nonetheless. The market, the center of business for the majority of the settlements she'd visited, almost always included a Chantry. Val Chevin was no different. Its Chantry sparkled brightly in the afternoon sun, the limestone a brilliant backdrop to a wooden gallows. Ashe dismounted and moved closer to examine the scene.

Six bodies still hung from the crossbeam while more were piled on a wagon parked conveniently beside the rickety structure. Elves all of them, as well as those in the wagon as far as Ashe was able to discern. A burly man with an equally burly beard grunted loudly as he stood up from behind the wagon, tossing another body on to an already large pile. Ashe watched him wipe a hand across his brow before turning to the six figures on the gallows.

"What manner of crime did they commit?" She asked him.

"Eh? Apostates and rebels, I'm told." He snorted and spat to the side, the wad of spittle clinging to his beard.

Ashe nodded slowly, her thoughts turning. "The Chantry's not to burn them?"

The burly man grunted again as he clambered up the dais to continue his grim work. "Not 'ere, missus." He pulled a knife from his belt and began sawing vigorously at the nearest rope. "I take 'em out o' the city les' the fires dirty yon white walls."

It was a prudent choice although she doubted it was for that reason the bodies were not burned inside the city walls. Burnt flesh is a terrible smell and leaves traces in breath and on skin. The market would not fare so well with the stench of it, but as the burly man had mentioned, neither would the white walls of the Chantry.

The body of an elf fell onto the dais with a thud and the burly man continued his work. Ashe had had enough and mounted up, heading for the inn. Ratimir would likely had reached the harbor by now and hoped that he would find no problems booking passage. She had no wish to stay in this town any longer than need be.

o O o

Ashe arrived at the Horse and Carriage in good time, the foot traffic thinning as the afternoon progressed into evening. She handed the stable boy three coppers to care for her mount, pulling her saddlebag and hefting it on her shoulder. On further thought, Ashe tossed him a fourth copper, instructing him to brush him and feed him as well. The young lad nodded vigorously in agreement, rushing to fill the feedbag and demonstrate his capability. Ashe left him to it and entered the inn.

She had stayed here before and noted absently that little had changed. The innkeep bid her welcome and she paid for three beds, which ended up costing her for two separate rooms. Ashe cared little for the slightly larger amount, deeming it well worth it if only for some privacy. After almost a week on the road, she reeked of horse and leather and desperately desired a bath. The innkeep, guessing at her thoughts, ordered one of his maids to task.

Ashe nodded in thanks and went to her room. The maid came up shortly after, pails of warm water in each hand, and began the arduous task of filling the tin tub in the room. It was a simple bath, but Ashe enjoyed it even so.

Refreshed and no longer smelling of horse, she went down to the common room and ordered supper. The innkeep gave her a toothy grin and relayed the order to the kitchen. Ashe turned around and leaned against the counter, surveying the room before her. It was not as crowded as she had seen it previously, but townsfolk still mingled about, laughter and conversation filling the air. She let herself relax slightly in the comfortable environment until she heard a raised voice and the crash of a chair knocked to floor.

"Blasted elf! Watch where yer goin'!"

Ashe recognized the shifty shadow as he bowed in mockery before planting his backside in a corner table. He ignored the insults flung his way, throwing a smirk at Ashe instead. Her moment of relaxation over, she went to join him.

"Yon beast is more bark than bite, I'd wager," Dierk jested as she sat down.

Ashe cocked an eyebrow at him. "Beware of animals no matter the strength of their bite." She gestured to the innkeep who promptly brought over two pints and Ashe slid one Dierk's way.

"An' now we got an elf and and elf-lover, lads." The "beast" Dierk had named approached their table, the white-blond of his shaggy beard doing nothing to hide the sneer behind it. The two men behind him, eyes bleary with drink, prodded him further. "And such a waste of good ale to boot."

Ashe propped her elbow on the table and clasped her hands together, considering him. "Ours is a private table. Shove off."

"Oy, what 'o mouth, Bhen!" one of the men blurted, wobbling slightly.

"Right-o Bhen. An' what do we do with mouthy wenches?"

The beast called Bhen chuckled. "We teach 'em a lesson."

Dierk shifted, but Ashe still held Bhen's gaze. She twisted her wrist slightly, palming the smile knife within. "I said shove off."

"Aye, now you listen 'ere, whore –"

Bhen paused as the door thundered open and a large shadow fell across him. He turned, as well as his drunken companions, toward the newcomer in the room. Ratimir stood, his large frame filling the doorway, his eyes trained on the trio by Ashe's table. She met his eyes and nodded once. The room was silent, tense.

"I said," Ashe waited for Bhen to turn his attention back toward her. "Shove off."

Bhen muttered under his breath, but Ashe ignored him, the cold steel of her knife firm against her palm. Ratimir approached their table wary, but Behn and his drunken cohorts left off, leaving only annoyance and the scent of ale in their wake.

Ratimir shrugged off his large sword and secured it by his chair, taking a seat next to Ashe as she turned her attention back to Dierk.

"About time you made a decent appearance."

Dierk smirked at her again, pocketing the purse he had stolen. The movement was so quick Ashe would have missed it had her attention not already been on him.

"Do you always steal from drunken oafs?"

"Aye," he shrugged and gripped his pint. "I'll make it a habit worth breaking, Ser."

Ashe sipped on her pint. "I am no Ser."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: My apologies for the long break between updates. A big thanks to everyone who's still reading and following along.

"_We all have our challenges."_

Chapter 6

The morning broke wet and soggy; any hint of warmth from the previous day had disappeared only to be replaced with dismal cloud cover. Ashe secured her medallion beneath her leathers and pulled her hood over her head, nudging her horse from out of the stables and into the dreary mist. Ratimir awaited her in the street, his broad figure cloaked and hooded and all the more imposing. They resumed their journey once more, the staccato cadence of their horses' hooves broken on occasion by a muddy puddle.

They headed south to the docks, Ratimir's ability to secure transport to Jader unfailing. Ashe had traveled by ship only few times before and had never grown accustomed to it. Better she travel by land and retain the morning's breakfast, except time was a luxury that she did not have. She needs be about her business and a hasty exit from Orlais and its politics was worth the price of a short sea voyage. However, Ashe doubted that she would feel the same once aboard.

She noticed a slight movement from the corner of her eye, recognizing Dierk's presence suddenly at her side. It was well and good, however, as they were quickly approaching the docks and the city guard kept a substantial watch stationed here. Dierk tossed her a careless smile, his eyes alight with mischief and excitement, but his body held a tension she'd become accustomed to. Ashe had seen that same tension in other elves bred in Val Royeaux's alienage and she saw it again in the poor of Val Chevin.

They were huddled in the shadows, rain drenched in their threadbare cloaks, attempting to shelter from the rain in alleys and alcoves – all elves, Ashe noted. And all poor. Their eyes peaked out from beneath dirt streaked faces, pointed ears sharp against the angular line of their jaw. It was no wonder why some found their race beautiful, with their bright eyes and lithe bodies, but Ashe saw no beauty in this lot. Val Chevin's poor had been beat down and trodden to muck, their eyes bright with only hunger and desperation, and Ashe followed Ratimir's example. She turned her eyes to the horizon. Better her attention remain on the task at hand.

Traffic was light on this morning thanks be to the foul weather. The drizzling mist had turned into a light rain, heavy drops pelting her hood and saturating her cloak. Ashe ignored the chill, keeping her eyes on their surroundings. As she had known, the guard had increased in the docks and Ashe made sure to keep Dierk between her and Ratimir. It would do no good to have him gallivanting about and stirring up trouble before they were to depart. Dierk seemed to share the same mindset, keeping close to Ashe's mount and within the shadow of Ratimir's large bulk.

Thankfully, no guards harassed them, and no trouble found them. The trio reached their destination without drama and little time to spare. Ratimir gestured to the ship berthed before them and Ashe nodded her approval.

It was an Orlesian galley with a single masthead and sat low in the water. Ashe suspected that they had already loaded cargo to trade and given the amount of activity aboard, believed them almost ready to set sail. She handed Ratimir her mount's reins and approached the gang plank.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" She ignored the few looks of surprise directed her way, focusing her attention to the man answering her query.

"And who might you be?" He tossed a length of rope to another sailor before striding purposefully up to the railing.

"Ashe," she answered curtly. "My partner booked passage with your ship only yesterday."

The man sniffed, his thin, dark mustache wet with rain. "I 'spose he did at that, though there was no mention of a woman to board."

Ashe ignored a bark of laughter in the distance. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that women are bad luck at sea, no?"

He sniffed again. "Ayup. 'Tis so I'm afraid."

Ratimir tensed in the background and Ashe saw Dierk start to fidget restlessly. "I doubt a woman is bad luck if the voyage is short and there's gold to be made."

His eyebrows rose at that and Ashe savored a small sense of satisfaction.

"Ruiz!" Ashe turned her eyes toward a large man, dropping gracefully from the rigging. "What are you on about, Old Boy?

Ruiz cocked his head and sniffed again. "Ain't no harm in it, Cap'n."

"Bugger that, Old Boy." The captain clapped him on the back heartily and pointed astern. "Go help Luc below deck. I hear tell he's like to have trouble securing those casks we took on."

Ruiz snorted yet again, and Ashe was beginning to wonder if he did aught else. "Aye, Cap'n. He daren't drink the whole shipment by 'isself, but I'll see to it."

The captain barked a laugh before thumping him on the back once more. "And you must hold the Templar's leash, my lady."

Ashe suppressed a frown as she watched the captain's manner change to those suited to a royal courtier. No doubt Ratimir had dealt directly with the captain to secure their passage, but she was not comfortable with his inquiry. She knew for certain Ratimir hadn't divulged her identity, much less his own.

"Do we have permission to board, Captain…?" She let drift her question to catch his name.

"Casson - Captain Casson of Bessie's Folly, the most prosperous little galley on the Waking Sea." He added with spectacular flair. Be welcome aboard my ship, lady…?"

The corners of her mouth curled in a wry smile. "Ashe, good Captain."

He bowed in greeting and extended his arm for her to take. "Be welcome aboard my ship, Lady Ashe." He cocked his head to the side as if noticing Ratimir and Dierk for the first time. "Your manservants may stow the horses below deck. The hold will be secure enough for their travel."

"Thank you, Captain." She ignored the frown on Dierk's face and the humor in Ratimir's stance. She knew he was laughing at her by the tilt of his head and the lightness in his shoulders. Even cloaked and drenched and helmeted, she still knew him, and he her.

"Please, allow me to show you to your quarters, my lady."

"As you say, Captain."

Ashe allowed herself to be guided like a fragile bloom across the deck to the small cabin where the Captain had placed her, doubting that the proximity to his own cabin was purely accidental. She stowed her belongings beneath the bunk and thanked the captain for his hospitality. Let him believe her a lady and easy bait; so much the better if he underestimated her.

They disembarked shortly thereafter and Ashe became very familiar with the port side railing, heaving the contents of her stomach into the choppy coastal waters. Ratimir had stayed below deck, preferring the company of their mounts to her, and Dierk had made easy friends with the rambunctious sailors. She saw him throw an evil grin her way as he diced and carried on, but her attention was quickly pulled back to the railing, her fingernails digging into the hard wood as she wretched yet again. She did not begrudge him his fun. It was only fair that at least one of their company enjoy the voyage.

Captain Casson left Ashe alone for the better part of the journey, one of the benefits of her lack of sea legs. Still, as they pulled into port at Jader, he bid her farewell with all the graciousness of a boon companion. Casson, a successful trader by nature, recommended several inns for her stay, and merchants for her convenience, specifically horse traders as she had shared with him her need of a third horse.

"Again, Captain, thank you for your hospitality. I apologize I was unable to be a more fitting guest."

"The sea does not agree with everyone, my lady. I wish that it had agreed with you."

"As do I," Ashe muttered, still gripping the railing even as they dropped anchor. "Captain, I've often heard that a ship's name carries meaning. Is it true?"

Captain Casson's smile widened, his blue eyes crinkling merrily. "Aye, and so it does."

"Color me curious, and give me a story to remember you by." Ashe blinked innocently as she had seen so many other noblewomen do.

"Pardon, my lady." He cleared his throat and shouted orders to his men before attending to her request. "Bessie is the woman my brother took to wife, their small cottage overrun with their nine children."

"And her folly?" Ashe asked, genuinely intrigued.

"She didn't choose me for her husband, aye." He barked a laugh and bowed again.

Ashe couldn't help but smile as she shook her head in disbelief. "Folly indeed, Captain."

o O o

Jader was only a bit smaller than Val Chevin, but little else differed. Upon their arrival, Ashe took Casson's advice and met with the horse trader. After a significant amount of haggling, Ashe left his stables with a new mount and saddle along with a much lighter purse. It would satisfy and Dierk wouldn't be forced to run alongside them unless he so chose.

Ratimir and Dierk caught up with her outside the city gates after restocking their supplies, as had been planned. Ashe presented Dierk with her hard won prize and after several awkward attempts to mount up, Ratimir stepped up behind him, shoved his backside, and nearly pushed Dierk over the saddle. However, his reflexes were lightning-quick and Dierk grasped the pommel, righting himself as best he was able. Nodding, Ratimir approved and heaved himself up onto his own saddle. Ashe sighed and shook her head before following suit. Clearly, Dierk's ability to ride, or lack thereof, would provide as much entertainment for her, as her seamanship did for him. It was going to be an interesting trip to Ferelden.

The weather had cleared since their departure from Jader, the bright blue skies much welcome after their short sea voyage. Ashe found the rhythm of her mount far more relaxing than the sway of choppy waters, but she doubted Dierk felt the same. Aboard Bessie's Folly he took to seamanship like a natural, and Ashe couldn't help but wonder at the likelihood that it was not his first time at sea. He diced like a professional, cursed like the sailors, and helped man the rigging as if he'd be born to it. However, his horsemanship bordered on the absurd; Dierk bounced wildly in the saddle, all legs and arms and gangly. It was a wonder that he hadn't yet fallen off, although Ashe guessed it was because he'd rather Ratimir not try to toss him again.

They carried on, crossing the border into Ferelden without issue. Ashe noted the slight change in weather as the remnants of winter gave full way to spring, the easterly winds warm and fresh. Still, Ashe caught a hint of something on the breeze as they continued forward. It was not the scent of wet dog, as so many seemed to claim and Ashe was glad she had remembered aright, but something else.

As they progressed through the pass and drew closer to Lake Calenhad, Ashe realized what it was. Long standing rumor held that mages of Ferelden's tower had dumped potions, failed experiments, waste, and Maker knew what else into the waters surrounding their tower. Granted, it was an expedient disposal, but ultimately not the wisest of choices. Ashe crinkled her nose as if it tickled, the scent of old garbage coloring the fresh breeze. Indeed, they were closer to the tower that she had realized, the scent of lyrium mixed with whatever else tainted Lake Calenhad.

Her nose crinkled again as the urge struck her, hard and fast and surprisingly strong. She reached into her pack, aware the both Dierk and Ratimir's attention was not on her, and withdrew a small vial. She eyed the substance, blues and grays swirling within the volatile concoction, and pushed aside the urge to down it. Both she and Ratimir had limited lyrium stores, provisions granted by the Divine for their mission, but Ashe knew the cost of that burden. She would wait until nightfall as she knew Ratimir would. It had been days since their last dose, long enough for another, but she hated the necessity of it.

Once a Templar always a Templar, and always dependent on lyrium lest they go mad.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks to the new DA:I trailer, I'm currently reworking my outline. Again. The next chapter posting might be delayed again, but because my muse is begging me to include him, there will be eventual Cullen.

"_Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide, either way, one's a fool."_

Chapter 7

As they crested the rise, Ashe shielded her eyes against the sun, brilliant in the early evening and throwing long shadows across their path. It had been less than a year since her last visit to this place, but the hard winter had taken its toll. She dismounted and led her horse down the steep path to the docks, Ratimir and Dierk following suit. As before, the area was abandoned. No Templar kept a vigil, no ferryman manned the boat, no business to be had where only few dared venture.

Ashe scraped the mud from her boots on the wet grass, noting idly that the Spoiled Princess had fallen into even greater disrepair. The dilapidated roof had caved in, taking half of the western wall with it. The remains of the door barely hung on rusted hinges and streaks of soot and rot colored what was left upright. Weeds poked out between the floorboards and a stunted tree grew in what Ashe guessed what used to be a tiny kitchen. She breathed deep, hints of moss and lyrium on the air, and turned her attention to the task at hand.

Dierk was poking around the burnt-out skeleton of an outbuilding, any traces of salvage already long gone, but she admired his tenacity nonetheless. Ratimir stood at the remains of the dock, the original stone bridge long ago fallen into ruin. It seemed this little patch of Ferelden had returned to the wilds. She joined Ratimir on the docks, hoping the tower fared better

Ratimir removed his great helm and set it to the side. Pulling his sword from his back, he leaned over the water and with his weapon, reached for the small boat just out of range. Ashe watched as the large man extended his arm over the water, balanced precariously on one foot, using the other, partially extended, for balance. It was an odd sight, to see such a large and heavily armed man, engaged in such a delicate pose, and Dierk took that moment to voice his opinion on the matter.

"You look like one of those Antivan dancers," he jested, tossing a pebble at him playfully. It made a light _ding_ on Ratimir's armor, but did nothing to upend his balance.

Ashe cocked a warning eyebrow at him but said nothing. Ratimir grunted as he caught his quarry, pulling the punt across the water to rest by the jetty. He hoisted his sword and secured it on his back again while Ashe reached into the boat and lifted a long pole from its shallow bottom.

"We're crossing in that little thing?" Dierk tossed another pebble, but Ratimir seized it mid-air before the elf could make another dent in his armor.

Ashe tested the integrity of the pole, and satisfied that it was still fit for use, passed it to Ratimir. "Unfortunately, yes. Do you have a better idea?"

Dierk opened his mouth to answer and then snapped it shut as if he thought better of it.

"We'll need to strip and hobble the horses," Ashe instructed Ratimir.

"Aye," he agreed, moving his helm from the jetty and settling it in the bow of the small boat.

"You're leaving the horses here? Won't someone come along and take them?"

"Nah," Ashe said as moved to the horses, transferring her belongings from the saddle and onto her shoulders. "There's no one around for miles to take them."

Ratimir grunted in agreement.

"Well I'd be more than happy to stay here and keep an eye out."

Ashe turned toward Dierk and considered him momentarily, ignoring the new pebble he tossed in his hands and the mischievous glint in his eyes. "By all means, do so."

Dierk did not toss the pebble again, closing his long fingers about it as he frowned at Ashe. She had agreed too easily. As he watched them unload the horses and shift the contents into the small punt, he began to doubt his intent.

"Fine, damn it," he muttered, tossing the pebble over his shoulder. It landed with a soft thud amidst the tall weeds.

Ashe said nothing, but nodded her assent as she carefully boarded the boat. Dierk hopped in deftly, perching on the square bow and watching as Ratimir attempted to board. The punt rocked wildly as the large man stepped in, his balance surprising Dierk, but not Ashe. However, the rocking set her stomach to churning and the color drained from her face. The elf shot her one of his wicked grins.

"There's no railing on this boat, Sailor."

Ashe gripped the sides as if to steady the punt and glared at him, but Dierk merely shrugged, his attention on Ratimir as the large man settled in. He dipped the long pole into the lake and shoved them away from the jetty, cool water splashing over the sides with their sudden departure. Ashe took a deep breath, steadying herself against the movement, her concentration on keeping her lunch down.

It was not so difficult a journey as their crossing on the Waking Sea. The water was smooth, glistening in the reflection of the setting sun, the shadow of the tower growing ever longer. Ashe studied it as they approached, the churning of her stomach quieting once more. Dierk did his best to undo her progress, however, shifting and fidgeting and purposefully rocking the boat until he caught Ratimir's disapproving glare. He quieted, as did Ashe's nerves, and he followed her gaze to the surrounding waters.

Ashe couldn't help but wonder what all the mages dumped in the lake, but she could guess, and couldn't overlook the scent of lyrium on the breeze. On the lake, the air felt thick with it, although as she thought upon it further, she wondered how much of that scent had to do with the activities in the tower. Ashe knew Ratimir could sense it as well and wondered.

"You best be careful, Ser Ratimir." Dierk tossed another pebble in his paws. "Armored like that, you'd fall to the bottom of a lake like a stone." As if to emphasize his point, he launched the small pebble into the water, the ripples of its impact mingling with those from the pole.

Ratimir ignored him and kept his eyes on the horizon.

o O o

The heavy doors groaned open, killing any sense of stealth Ashe might have needed. Fortunately, the entry was empty, filled only with shadows and dust. However, as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she noticed a sliver of light leaking out from beneath the inner doors. Ashe pulled her daggers from their scabbards, the blades whispering silently free of their padded confines. Ratimir followed suit, the enormous sword catching bits of light as he took up position. Dierk fell back, nocking an arrow in the shadows. Ashe gave them a once over then moved to open the inner doors.

Ignoring the thrill in her blood, Ashe pulled on the inner doors. They groaned open much the same as the outer doors and Ashe cursed silently. She moved into the brightly lit hall, daggers at the ready, their weight familiar and comfortable in her grip. Dierk crept in behind her while Ratimir covered the rear. She moved with purpose, swift yet deliberately, securing each room they came upon. However, it was not the easiest task she'd undertaken, the realization dawning after she opened the first chamber door.

An enormous area opened up to her, the newly disturbed dust motes fluttering in the air. Ashe frowned at the ramshackle remnants; the beds, coverlets, and crumbling vanities all in various stages of disrepair. Ashe nudged a pillow with her boot, the rotted stuffing giving way to the bare stone tiles beneath. It was the old apprentice quarters, she realized, and long abandoned.

Dierk and Ashe moved through the chamber with caution while Ratimir remained by the door, his eyes on the hall. Their search was short and uneventful, and with little hesitation, moved further into the tower. The second room was identical to the first. They found nothing of value or interest among the remnants. Onward they moved, finding little to confirm that anyone had resided here recently except for the lit torches. The lack of a visible presence set Ashe's nerves on edge, and she swept through the northern hallway more than a little frustrated. However, it was when she entered the vast library that Ashe found her answer.

In addition to the torches, several carefully placed candles illuminated the massive space. Stacks of books leaned haphazardly against a large, oak table with numerous scrolls scattered atop it. A parchment crinkled loudly in the silence as the woman at the desk set it down amongst the others. She cocked her head and blinked once, her eyes on Ashe.

"Ashe, I presume? It took you longer to arrive than I had estimated. A shame." She clasped her hands together and cocked her head the other way. "Ah well. I will adjust my calculations accordingly in the future. Be welcome."

Ashe frowned, considering the petite woman and her odd greeting. Given Dierk's sudden tension and an arrow at the ready, Ashe had no doubt regarding his suspicions or Ratimir's, who stood guard at the door. And yet the strange woman did not move, but waited patiently. Ashe, intrigued by her presence, sheathed her daggers and took a seat at the table across from her.

"I am Inquisitor Ashe," she blurted, taking note of the woman's lack of surprise and confirming her own suspicions. She had indeed been expecting them and only one other person knew that Ashe would be returning to Kinloch Hold. Surely the Divine had sent word to this woman informing her of Ashe's mission, and given her calm demeanor at her mention of 'Inquisitor,' Ashe's rank as well. This was an opportunity she meant to take advantage of.

"Your companions need not fret, Inquisitor. We are safe here and we are alone."

Ashe glanced at the two men. Ratimir remained on guard by the door, but Dierk lowered his bow as if to test a theory. She trusted Ratimir with his wariness and so left him be, but gestured to Dierk to ease off for now. He complied, albeit reluctantly, but a slight shift on the air caught her attention accompanied by a deep thrumming in her blood. Ashe contemplated the petite woman once more, her other suspicion confirmed.

"You're a mage."

"I am Taika." She quirked a tight smile and nodded brusquely. "I suspected someone of your skill, Inquisitor, would sense my abilities easily. I am glad to see I was correct."

"What are you doing here?"

She stabbed the table with a finger to emphasize a point. "Right to the heart of the matter, Inquisitor. I respect that."

Ashe leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, confident with Ratimir at her back. "And?"

"And as you've likely surmised, I was sent a missive from the Divine. My directive was to meet you here, and here we are."

"You are an agent of the Chantry?" Ashe need not hide the disbelief in her voice. The very idea was folly. That a mage would voluntarily assist the Chantry after the butchery in Kirkwall was absurd.

"Not an agent, per say," she leaned forward, her chair creaking slightly even as her green eyes glittered. "But more of an interested party."

Ashe was starting to like this small woman and that notion set her suspicions alight once more. "Interested in what, exactly?"

"Knowledge, Inquisitor." She gestured broadly indicating the library surrounding them. "Because I agreed to assist, I have access to the largest collection of magical works in all Ferelden. I did not have enough time to thoroughly review each tome when last I was here, and I doubt I will at present, but I have what I came for."

"You were here before?" Dierk asked in the distance. He had lowered his bow and was perusing the works on a nearby shelf.

"Indeed. I grew up here."

That caught Ashe's attention. "You were here during Uldred's rebellion?"

"Indeed," Taika repeated. "Although I was a mere apprentice at the time and did not witness anything of note. Point of fact, when I was found and brought to Knight Commander Gregoire, he locked me and the other apprentices in a storage closet." Taika frowned and scoffed at the memory. "As if that would have held us."

"Better than the alternative," Dierk quipped.

"You are correct, Ser Elf. Turning into an abomination is far less enjoyable than familiarizing myself with the contents of the groundskeeper's ill gotten gains." Taika leaned toward Ashe in an almost conspiratorial manner. "I must admit, the amount of pornography that man had stashed on his shelves was nigh on absurd!"

"Ah," Ashe frowned, uncertain of how to respond while Dierk snorted with laughter behind a large bookcase. "I see."

"Be glad you did not," Taika replied. "Bah, you did not come here to listen to my pointless ramblings, but for something of import, no?"

Ashe heard Ratimir shift behind her, his sword clinking lightly as he shouldered it once more, and decided to show her hand. "What has the Ferelden Circle to do with the mage rebellion spreading across Thedas?"

Taika frowned, her delicate nose scrunching with unfeigned surprise. "King Alistair freed the Ferelden Circle ten years ago as reward for our assistance ending the blight. This is known."

"No," Ashe shook her head. "It is not. The Chantry holds that Templars were stationed here, tasked with guarding their charges even after the king declared them free."

"Hm," she tapped a delicate finger on her chin in thought. "Then the Chantry – or perhaps the Templars – are more successful at dissembling than I thought. Interesting."

"What is?"

"Inquisitor," she gesture around the library again, "you've seen for yourself. There is nobody here and there hasn't been in a long time. Rebellion for those of us in this tower was a moot point as we were already free."

A thoughtful frown darkened Ashe's countenance. "And what about the Templars posted here?"

Taika's smile was pensive. "Mages are not the only people who wish to be free of the Chantry's yolk."

Ashe's frown deepened as Taika's words struck home. The mage had made a point, but no matter how much truth her words might hold, Ashe needed confirmation. She stood suddenly, her chair grating loudly against the stone floor.

"If you'll excuse me, Taika, I have duties to attend to."

She nodded in understanding. "The First Enchanter's study is one floor up and across the entrance to the third floor stair. The Knight Commander's chambers are on the fourth floor. You will likely find both of interest."

Ashe considered thanking Taika for her assistance, but held her tongue. She was still too suspicious of this woman and small courtesies seemed frivolous when compared to her mission objectives. Ashe motioned to Ratimir who maintained his position by the door and beckoned Dierk to follow her.

They moved quickly through the second floor, Dierk focusing the better part of his efforts on salvaging whatever valuables he could find. By the look of it, the elf had discovered a meager amount of remaining treasure, few items of which they could carry with them. Ashe, however, had better luck. Rifling through the papers stashed in the First Enchanter's desk, she ran across a worn journal and promptly sat down to study it.

It was as Taika had said. Both Templars and mages had quit the tower, abandoning all pretenses. Control was no matter. Rebellion was no matter. The Ferelden Circle had long ago been lost and the Orlesian nobility could no longer "pretend" to help their neighbor in distress as it was not - not from the circle mages anyway.

Ashe sighed with understanding. This was what they feared in Orlais. This was why she had been snatched from her duty and imprisoned. She had always detested Orlesian politics and now more so.

"Explore the tower if you wish, but be careful," she said, tucking the journal in her pack.

"Nah, Sailor." Dierk pocketed a ring he had just discovered. "I think I'm done here for the evening."

"As you will."

They returned back down the stairs, the library still brightly lit with its many torches and Ratimir exactly where she left him. Their eyes met and she simply nodded, knowing that he'd understand her meaning; neither one of them liked leaving things undone. With the journal in her possession, she could complete her previous mission and move on to the next with fewer reservations. It was enough, for now.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: A big thanks to everyone reading and following along!

"_Fortunes change."_

Chapter 8

It was hot. Gollick was hot, and he chafed under his heavy plate, sweat trickling down his neck and soaking the sturdy fabric of his gambeson. He resisted the urge to scratch, settling instead for a grim frown well hidden beneath his great helm, the ever present din of the workday passing him by. He studied the mages moving through the Gallows' courtyard, some in chains, some in rags, others with the blank, unnerving stare of the Tranquil. Even in the heat he shivered at the empty look in their eyes, the mechanical way they sold their wares, but forced his attention back to the matter at hand. He must remain vigilant, a model for his men. The Knight Commander wouldn't want his captain distracted by a little heat.

"Captain!"

Gollick tilted his head to the left slightly, keeping the main courtyard in view of his helm's eye slits. He recognized the voice as Lieutenant Horn, her armor creaking loudly as she approached. He would need to remind her to oil it again.

"Report," he ordered curtly.

"Only one more ship at dock, Captain. The other two have been diverted."

Gollick grunted in acknowledgement. "Where."

Her armor creaked again as she shook her head. "Don't know, sir. City guard sent them off. We've not room enough for them in the city."

Gollick whispered a curse, his breath hot in the confines of his helm. "You'd think after the debacle with the blight, refugees would seek shelter elsewhere."

"Aye, sir." He could hear her nodding her head in agreement. "But the war has all manner of folks running scared. Word of Viscount Hawke's disappearance hasn't travelled far so I guess they think running to Kirkwall's still a good idea."

"Word hasn't gotten far yet." Gollick grumbled, and unable to hide his annoyance, finally scratched the itchy, damp fabric along his neck. "Give me the numbers, Horn."

"Sir," she cleared her throat and Gollick heard the crinkle of parchment as she unfolded her notes. "Two ships made port and unloaded a total of twenty refugees, a band of bounty hunters brought in five mages –"

"Or so they claim," Gollick interrupted.

" – and Jalboun finally arrived with the supplies the Commander ordered."

"He's five weeks late."

"Aye, Captain."

Gollick's frown deepened. "The commander won't be happy with this."

"With the rumors I've been hearing, sir, we're lucky he got those supplies to us at all."

That did catch Gollick's attention and he turned his helmeted gaze on the lieutenant. "What have you heard?"

She shrugged, her armor screeching loudly, the grating noise setting Gollick's nerves aflame. "Pirate raids along the coast, blood mages sprouting wings in Cumberland, Highever ships out of Ferelden set to fire by burning rain, demons and corpses prowling the heart of the Flanesen Forest." She paused and looked away from the captain. "Dragons."

Gollick snorted again. "Yes, and I'm sure Andraste made an appearance in nothing but her knickers, while the Maker set a tea party for the qunari. Rumor is just that, Lieutenant," he admonished and turned his attention back to the courtyard. "It would be unwise to consider it truth."

"But sir – "

"What else do you have for me?"

She sighed heavily underneath her helm. "The city guard reported a flood of activity at the east gate this morning." She gestured to the organized chaos in the Gallows' square. "That's where this lot come from."

Gollick nodded, but said nothing, the sweat still trickling down his gorget, and seeping into his already damp gambeson. He'd have to speak with the quartermaster after his shift ended. No way was he wearing this sweat-stained horse blanket tomorrow.

Horn shifted her stance, pauldron grinding against her cuirass and Gollick almost flinched at the harshness of it. "Sir, a question if I may?"

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

She cleared her throat and paused momentarily before plowing ahead with curiosity. "Why would the mages come back here after everything that's happened? Don't they want their freedom? Don't they hate us?"

Gollick had expected this question, although he'd not thought to be baking in the afternoon heat when he discussed it. He tilted his head toward her once more, still eyeing the lines of mages and peasants alike as they filed across the threshold to whatever safety they could find. The lieutenant was young, but she was bright and she was skilled. However, he wondered why she hesitated in her question.

"Just like the yoke and collar, Horn, not all mages enjoy freedom when it's forced upon them. It's turning into chaos out there. At least in here they can find some sort of sanctuary. At least in here, we can provide some sort of order."

He heard her snort underneath her helmet. "What sort of sanctuary did they find under Meredith's order?"

Gollick stiffened and turned toward her fully, his stern voice a whisper, his patience frayed by the heat of the day. "You weren't here under Knight Commander Meredith, Lieutenant. You best keep your mouth shut on that particular topic."

"Aye, sir." She handed him the day's report. "As you order, sir."

"Good." Gollick snatched the report from her and skimmed it briefly. "And Horn?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Be sure to oil your armor tonight. I can hear you coming from a mile away."

"Yes, sir."

He studied her a moment longer before nodding brusquely and moving across the courtyard, his strides long and purposeful. He was eager to get out of the sun, away from the bustle of the courtyard, and into the shade of the Gallows proper. He heard the sharp twang of metal on metal, the general ruckus of his men at the training grounds, their hoots and howls followed by occasional bouts of applause and appreciation. He pulled his great helm off his head as he entered the grounds and pushed back his mail coif.

The scene in front of him was comfortably familiar and he yanked off his gauntlets as he sat down heavily in an open seat. A cool breeze drifted over him, the scent of Goldfields on the air, and he raked a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

Another round of appreciative howls and opposing boo's filled the air as the onlookers placed their bets, and Gollick watched as Kirkwall's newest templar lieutenant tested his mettle against the Knight Commander. He was skilled, Gollick observed, but a bit slow and his footwork was shoddy. The captain watched as his commander took advantage of both, tripping up the lieutenant and finishing him off with a quick pommel blow to the jaw.

The lieutenant stumbled awkwardly, then crashed to the ground. Holding up one hand in surrender, he absently rubbed his jaw with the other. Cheers and groans filed the air as money changed hands. The Knight Commander picked up his defeated opponent and patted him on the back, a smile on his face.

Gollick stood as the round ended, only able to make out the last bit of their conversation amongst the crowd's noise.

"- needs work, but you did well."

The commander clapped him on the back again and sent him on his way, his attention now trained on the captain standing before him.

"You have the day's report, Gollick?" He pulled a towel from the table and wiped the sweat from his bare chest.

"Aye, Commander Cullen. It seems there is to be no end to the stream of fearful Marchers." Gollick passed the report to Cullen's waiting hands.

"I see." He frowned as he read through it, just as Gollick had. After a silent moment, Cullen's frown eased and he reached for a glass of water, his countenance still thoughtful.

"At least Jalboun arrived with the supplies," the captain added almost absently.

"Yes, well that's something at least." He downed the rest of his water and contemplated the report once more. "We're over-taxed as is, Gollick. Every little bit helps."

"Yes sir." Cullen's frown returned as he continued to review the report just as Gollick expected it would.

"Is this correct, Gollick? We still haven't caught those damned maleficarum? You told me you hauled in a group just yesterday!"

Gollick cleared his throat, taking a moment to decide on how to phrase his next words. "Yes, but there seems to be more than one group, and the Undercity is not exactly conducive to thorough searches, Commander. We'll find them, but it will take time."

Cullen grunted and took another drink of water before realizing the glass was empty. He set it down with a displeased grunt and eyed the captain for a moment before continuing. "Blood mages running amok in brazen defiance of the chantry is not the sort of activity I want my reports to consist of, Gollick."

The captain sighed and ran a hand through his hair again, his neck still itching against his damp gambeson. "Cullen, I've got two teams on it and even enlisted the city guard. We're doing all that we can, but…" he shrugged casually. "Those rebel mages are doing their best to martyr that damnable warden – that Anders – and some of our former boys are making that job a lot easier for them."

Cullen nodded in agreement, his gaze turning skyward as his eyes darkened in thought. "If this war could be won by propaganda alone, we'd have them beat, but such as it is… Contain the situation, Captain. Right now that's the best thing we can do for this city, for the mages, as well as our order. Until the nobles decide upon a viscount, we've only our dwindling numbers and the city guard to maintain some sense of stability."

"As you say, sir." Gollick plucked his gauntlets from off the table and tucked his helm under his arm. He made for the hall, but paused as curiosity got the better of him. "Pirate activity in the Waking Sea has been on the rise. You don't think…"

The commander pulled his loose tunic over his head before turning tired eyes to the captain.

"You knew Hawke, Cullen. Any word from him, or even that pirate wench of his?"

"We have bands of maleficarum trespassing in our city, Gollick. I think that demands our attention, don't you?"

Gollick nodded, recognizing the dismissal. "I'll find them, but it would be easier if we had something else to go on. Any follow up on the Cumberland intel?"

Cullen shook his head. "I haven't received any word as yet. But if you think it's worth looking into, I'll see what I can pull together."

"Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed, Captain."

o O o

Justinia V twisted the ring on her finger, its golden weight less of a burden than the office it symbolized. She never had any illusions regarding her position and the amount of politicking involved, but she had not expected so many entanglements. She never regretted her appointment, but it didn't mean that she was thoroughly satisfied with it. As with any position of power, it attracted all manner of complications. War, however, was a complication she would rather have avoided.

"Your Grace is in a pensive mood this eve."

A sad smile did little to brighten her features, eyes still shadowed and hooded in thought. She had tended to her daily responsibilities as duty dictated, but as the sky darkened to a rich amber hue, the setting sun only served to remind her of the dire eventualities upon the morrow. The Divine kept her eyes on the horizon, watching and waiting for word, anything to soothe her frayed nerves. She had become a prisoner of her own design, hungry for word regarding her gamble. Indeed, Vitomir was correct; she was in a pensive mood this evening.

"My apologies, Master Vitomir. I have much on my mind." The Grand Inquisitor's visit was no surprise. In fact, she had expected him earlier. "You have news?"

"Yes, Your Grace." The remaining apostates fleeing Val Royeaux were captured and executed outside of Val Foret. Witnesses were few – we didn't want another incident as what happened in the city."

Justinia V nodded and waved a bejeweled hand for him to continue.

"My last reports indicate that Andoral's Reach had been retaken, although there have been a few skirmishes. I suspect the mages have fled south into the marshes."

"And the Templars? Are they loyal to the Chantry or their own commander?"

"Unknown, Your Grace. I've not had a chance to inquire." The Grand Inquisitor paused, his steely gray eyes studying the petite woman sitting before him. "And what news from your agents?"

Justinia V turned her eyes from the window and met his gaze, a knowing smile curling her lips. "Master Vitomir, I always did appreciate your ability to give a little before receiving."

"I aim to please, Your Grace." He cocked an expectant eyebrow. "And I do enjoy a fair trade."

The Divine nodded, turning her attention once more out the window. "Since I know it is foremost in your thoughts, we have secured the lyrium contract with a merchant family from Ozammar." She noted with satisfaction the slight exhalation of breath from the Grand Inquisitor. "We will provide supply for the keep so long as our interests take priority."

"I do not answer to you, Your Grace. This visit is merely a courtesy out of respect for our mutually beneficial partnership."

Justinia V nodded in agreement. "And our mutual and beneficial partnership will remain so, but with additional benefit."

Vitomir frowned, his displeasure concealed beneath a heavy beard save for the anger in his eyes. "You seek to yolk us to your will."

She turned once again and met his gaze unflinching. "My will is the will of the Chantry, servants of the Maker himself."

The Grand Inquisitor opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when a knock on the door sounded.

"Enter." The Divine waved her attendant over, promptly reviewing the missive presented and dismissing her without a word. The small woman's face closed over as she remembered the presence of company, forcing her limbs to relax in the large chair. "It was as she thought."

Vitomir said nothing, withholding the question on his lips.

"Grand Inquisitor," the Divine set her missive aside and turned her full attention on the burly man. "I will have the lyrium shipped to the keep within a fortnight. I suggest you be there to receive it."

Vitomir snorted contemptuously. "I know an order when I hear it, Your Grace."

Justinia V continued despite his venom. "The Inquisition is not subject to Chantry regulation. I cannot give you an order and expect it to be carried out. However, as per our mutually beneficial arrangement, I can make requests and recommendations. And I recommend you return to the keep in order to receive the incoming shipment."

"Aye, Your Grace." The Grand Inquisitor stood, armor creaking in the silence. "Call it what you will."

o O o

"No, I disagree," Taika stated curtly. "We should head south. To the Korcari Wilds. It is by far the better decision and more in line with your objectives, Inquisitor."

Ashe shot her a withering glare, her saddle creaking slightly as she turned to the tiny woman riding beside her. "You don't say."

Dierk chuckled in the background and kicked his horse, galloping off into the underbrush and disappearing from view. Ashe noted Ratimir's towering figure sat straighter than usual and willed her temper to subside. He recognized her annoyance as easily as she recognized his discomfort.

"Ah, I see Dierk's riding has improved slightly," Taika noted absently before meeting Ashe's eyes. "If you want to study the effects of the Warden's path, then you must follow it. Simple."

_Why was this damnable tiny woman challenging her?_ Ashe took a deep breath and fought against the irritation thrumming through her blood. She hated to admit it, but the mage made sense. And that pricked her pride.

"So be it." Ashe kicked her horse and followed Dierk into the underbrush.

Taika cocked a questioning eyebrow and met Ratimir's steady gaze. He blinked once at her then turned his eyes to the horizon.

"I wonder what that was all about?" Taika asked to empty air.


End file.
